How it Goes
by thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: Erebor is now reclaimed, meaning that he can go back to his peaceful life of making toys. Now, however, he has a partner.


The mountain may have been reclaimed, and dwarves may have again been able to peacefully live inside of it, but that did not mean that every dwarf was there. Bifur found himself in either Lake Town or the ever growing city of Dale, which would one day again be the prosperous city from before. He only went to Erebor when it grew late, packing up his supplies and being told a number of goodbyes as he walked back to the mountain.

As of then, he was busy preparing one last toy for the day. He could always pack up early, but the toy begged to be finished that night. If he didn't, he would return the next day lacking the enthusiasm to finish it; it would be finished, but it would not have the spark that he put through it now.

He carved the last bits carefully, and then looked over to his selection of paints. The paint would be easy to apply, though they would take the night to dry. Once he came back the next day, he would add the second coat; once it dried, the toy would truly be complete. Still, satisfaction filled him as he continued to work. This was certainly one of his best works, and he did use the term often. His toys could simply be toys most days, good but not magical. If he had a true spark, something that truly inspired him, then he could create something amazing, something that would not be easily discarded.

The only noise accompanying him was the soft, gentle hum of the youngest princess of Dale. Since the rebuilding of Dale had begun, the young girl had been helping the best that she could. Still, there was only so much that she was able to do; from what her sister said, she was far from a good cook, was too young to train to be a soldier, and was too young to join the rebuilding. Toys, however, she could make. All the time that she spent with the dwarf had taught him that she could be just as mischievous as Fili and Kili, so it was good to make sure that she had something to keep her occupied.

He looked over to her, and she smiled up at him. Tilda held her latest creation up, a wooden duck. It was only half done, and there wasn't a bit of paint on it yet, but it was certainly good.

Bifur placed his latest toy down. "Good," he signed. "I like it."

"Thank you," she signed back. She picked her small knife back up and began to carve once more.

Bifur picked up his toy again. He had finally managed to carve it just right, and again began to paint. Carving, at least in his opinion (though he knew certain toy makers who would tell him otherwise, which had caused more than a few fights in angry Iglishmek), was easier than painting. Painting took perfection, and he could not risk a single misplaced drop of paint ruining his piece.

As Tilda hummed, her songs changed. Some Bifur recognized, songs that he heard the people in Dale sing, and some were old dwarf songs that Bofur had taught her.

Carefully, Bifur added the last touches of paint. By the end, his hand ached, and he was begging Mahal to not let anything go wrong when he added the second coat the next day.

The paint was as close to perfect as he could get, and he was proud of it.

He looked over to Tilda. "We should go," he signed. Looking out the window of his shop, he could already see that the moon was high in the sky. Had they really worked that late? Tilda had never mentioned it.

She nodded, placing her own work down.

"I'll lead you home." He paused, letting his hands rest, and allowing himself one last look at his piece. "Just let me get my things; it will be a long walk home tonight."

"Oh no," Tilda spoke. She began to move her hands, signing once more. "You can stay with us. Dad won't mind." The sign she used to refer to her father was different from the general term Bifur had taught her. When she used that sign, she meant only her father. "Tilda is making cookies, too."

"No," Bifur signed back. "It was kind of you-"

Before he could finish, she was rapidly signing at him. "But cookies!"

He paused. Though he would never admit it, he liked Sigrid's cookies more than Bombur (Dwalin certainly shared his opinion). Tilda sometimes brought some with her, and always offered him a few as well. Besides, he had never had the cookies fresh.

Bifur looked back out the window. It truly was late.

He nodded. "I will stay with you."

Tilda's grin took up her whole place. She hopped off of her stool and grabbed him by the hand. "You don't have to get your things then! We can just get them tomorrow!"

She ran out the shop, and he followed after her, only stopping to close the door and lock his shop up. Once he finished, he was racing again, and by the time the two were at the small castle Bard lived in, the two were red faced and panting.

Sigrid was the first one to meet them inside. She held a number of books in her hands. "Tilda, Bifur! Are you two alright?"

Tilda nodded. "Did you make cookies?"

She nodded. "Of course that would be the first thing that you would ask about."

As Sigrid led them to the kitchen, Tilda told her older sister all about her day. Sometimes Bifur would make a quick sign of his own. Sigrid would nod, having now learned how to interpret his signs.

"It sounds like your day went well." She held out a cookie to each of them.

"It did!" Tilda said. She bit into her cookie, a warm chocolate chip.

Bifur bit in as well, allowing himself to relish the flavor. If Bombur found out about his tastes, he would certainly be offended; that didn't matter then, though. After all, he wasn't there.

"You two look like you need some dinner." Sigrid pointed the two to chairs. "And no, you can't just eat cookies until you're full."


End file.
